


Four Funerals and a Proposal

by minnabird



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Developing Friendships, Families of Choice, Family Issues, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Planet Naboo (Star Wars), Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29282919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minnabird/pseuds/minnabird
Summary: When Gregar Typho met Saché, it didn’t feel like a pivotal moment in his life. She was a young hero of the invasion; he was just an administrative aide. But in life’s upheavals, and their shared association with Padmé, she became an unexpected constant. Or, as it says on the tin, follow Gregar’s life through four funerals and a proposal.
Relationships: Gregar Typho & Saché, Gregar Typho & Saché & Yané, Saché/Yané (Star Wars)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Four Funerals and a Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> A note on the major character death warning: no death scenes occur, and the only noncanonical deaths are minor original characters, but because so much of this is focused on deaths that strongly affect the characters who do drive the fic, I thought it necessary to warn.
> 
> This was written for Naboo Review 2021 over on tumblr, for the theme "Found Family."

**Funeral I: The Queen’s Memorial, Gallo Mountain University  
** **One year after the Battle of Naboo**

Gregar paused in the doorway to the administration office, shifting the box in his arms. There was a slight figure standing at reception; maybe someone’s kid? “Are you lost?” he asked.

She turned, and Gregar’s breath caught in his throat. The robe she wore had short sleeves, and when she faced him, it revealed twisting lines of scars crawling down her arms. Her age, her scars, and the look of her together immediately identified her, although the palace had kept any holos of her under wraps. “You’re Saché Adova,” he blurted.

An impish smile warmed her face. “And you have the advantage of me, Mr…?” she said.

“Oh.” Gregar set down the box on the desk and held out a hand. “Typho. It’s an honor, my lady. When they said they’d send a liaison from the queen’s party, I didn’t expect you.”

“I’m just a page,” Saché said. “Can you direct me to the events coordinator?”

“She’s running late back from her errand, I’m afraid,” Gregar said. 

“Oh.” Her eyes strayed towards the box, then she tilted her head. “Can I help? Everyone seems to be very busy.”

Gregar laughed. “Not with this. I was just bringing them back to stash in the office; we definitely can’t use these candles in the ceremony.” He slid open the lid and gestured for Saché to look.

She craned her head to peer inside, then laughed. “Yellow? No, I can see why you wouldn’t want wedding candles.”

“Everything always goes wrong the day of,” he said wryly. He closed the box, then bent to tuck it under the reception desk. He considered a moment, then said, “You know, Mariek Panaka is my aunt. She told me what you did—how brave you were.”

When he straightened, she reached out to touch the medal pinned to his jacket. “We all had to be very brave,” she said. She met his eyes, and for a moment, that understanding that everyone who had been on Naboo during the invasion shared passed between them. No one had been unaffected. They were all still finding their way back to normalcy.

When the coordinator returned and he went back to work, he expected that to be an end to it. He’d met a hero of the battle for Naboo’s freedom; she had met an office aide. The memorial was a touching ceremony in the end, and Gregar drifted off on his own afterwards to pay his respects to fallen friends. Only a year gone, and he still ached to think of them.

Saché surprised him at Stannos’ grave marker. “I’m sorry to intrude,” she said.

Gregar turned, his hands still tucked into his pockets, and blinked at her for a moment. “No,” he said. “No, it’s all right. Do you need something?”

She pointed at the path, where a cluster of girls in grey robes that matched her own stood. “We were passing, and I wanted to say goodbye. It was nice meeting you, Typho.”

A sliver of warmth lodged in with the heartache. “Thank you,” he said. “I was glad to meet you as well.” There was movement on the path, and the queen appeared in a voluminous dark grey gown, flanked by guards. “I think that’s your cue. Take care.”

**Funeral II: Versé  
** **Two weeks after the Battle of Geonosis**

Gregar had organized the transport of the bodies home, delivered the news to the families, watched Mariek’s sister Heli’s heart break at losing her only child. It was strange and uncomfortable to be there in his capacity as Versé’s superior, not as family. Padmé gave them all leave, but it wasn’t a break: it was a grueling marathon of memorials.

He didn’t know how Padmé handled them with such grace. She went to each one, spoke to the family members, told stories crafted to show the dead in their best lights, her honest fondness and grief showing through. In lieu of her Senate guard, she had protectors provided by Queen Jamillia, but Typho recognized at least one of her handmaidens from her time as queen standing by her at all times.

It left a cold fist of fear in his gut not to know where Padmé went at the end of the night. He let it lie; he didn’t have the energy to open up that conversation. He suspected she thought she was doing him a favor. She was always so careful about giving her people space in their personal lives.

Grief shut some people down; for others, it brought everything boiling to the surface. Heli boiled over the night of Versé’s memorial.

Her grave marker read VERSAAT LA’PARUN. Gregar hadn’t planned to say anything about it. Mariek at least waited until they were in private to ask, “Versaat?”

Heli turned so fast Gregar’s neck ached in sympathy. “It’s the name we gave her,” she hissed. 

Mariek was silent a moment. “If Mother buried you with anything other than the name you chose, I would also question why she chose to do that,” she said at last.

“It’s not the same thing at all,” Heli said. “This family has given enough to that woman. You and Quarsh spent years focused on looking after her, and Gregar’s just as bad. I’m not giving her my daughter’s memory on top of her life.”

Mariek reached for her hand, but Heli jerked away, not looking at either of them. “Who’s your family, then, Mari? Us, or Amidala?”

“That isn’t a fair thing to ask and you know it,” Mariek said gently. “I love you. I loved Versé, too. Give her the credit she deserves for that big brain of hers. She knew what the stakes were, and she chose what to do with her life.”

“How can either of you not be breaking apart over this?” Heli choked out.

“I don’t need to be here,” Gregar muttered, and ducked away.

Heli wasn’t exactly his aunt—she was Mariek’s sister, and Gregar’s mother was Quarsh’s sister, and in plenty of families he would have had next to no obligation to her. Mariek kept all of her family knit tight together, though, a spider at the center of a web of gossip, advice, useful connections, and love. He felt a responsibility to her on top of it, for putting Versé in that position. That didn’t mean he was going to stick it out through this argument. Breaking apart was not on the agenda for tonight.

His search for air ended with him sitting on the front steps of the temple. He was still there when a figure dressed in mourning purples started up the steps, and he would have ignored her if she hadn’t called out, “Captain?”

He looked up, and it took him a moment to recognize Saché Adova. He had only seen her in passing or on the newsnets since that brief meeting almost ten years ago. She smiled at him like she was meeting an old friend, though. 

He stood to greet her. “My lady.”

“You can call me Saché if you like,” she said. “I’m supposed to be finding Padmé and Eirtaé and dragging them out for the night. Would you like to help?”

“It depends.” Saché looked at him in question, and Gregar made himself soften his tone. He didn’t want to come off sounding like an ogre. “Do I get to know where she’s going? Or at least how secure it is where she’s going? It’s been driving me crazy.”

Saché tilted her head. “You really are Panaka’s nephew,” she said. 

“It’s not…” Gregar scrubbed a hand over the back of his head. They did have similarly…strong feelings about risk-taking, particularly when their charges did it, but that wasn’t what this was about. “I don’t want to fuss at her. My cousin died.” He jerked his head towards the temple. “I want to know she isn’t going to die, too.”

A little too honest, for a near-stranger. But Saché had been a handmaiden. He saw the understanding come into her eyes at once. She reached out and pulled his arm through hers, turning them towards the temple. “Do you have plans with your family tonight?” she asked.

Gregar considered. There weren’t any official plans, and he had meant to make himself useful, but he wasn’t sure how Heli would come out the other end of her conversation with Mariek. Didn’t think he’d be welcomed, truth be told. “No,” he said.

“Then I want you to consider helping me extract Padmé, then coming with us to drink a few toasts.” Her eyes slid sideways towards him. “Nothing wild; my wife and I have kids to get back to. Just…company.”

Gregar tilted his head, acknowledging the offer. It was a kind one. He wasn’t sure if Padmé would welcome him, either. It seemed…private, an affair with friends unconnected to her current team. “I saw the senator standing with Versé’s friends a few minutes ago. I’ll show you.”

The group Padmé had been with had disbanded, but Gregar consulted a few of the guests and followed their directions further back into the crowd. Quarsh had stopped to talk to Padmé, and Saché sucked in air through her teeth at the same moment Gregar’s heart sank. Another awkward conversation, from the strained looks on their faces.

“It’s almost worse when they try to talk to each other than when they ignore each other,” Saché said. “You distract him, I’ll take Padmé. Meet us out front in five.” She pulled her arm away from his and gave him a gentle push, and he raised an eyebrow at her.

“Don’t you know the steps?” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It’s the easiest dance in the book.” 

He hadn’t expected to smile tonight. He took a moment to smooth his face, then made a beeline for his uncle. He pulled him aside with a significant look back towards the room set aside for the family. “I’m going to head out,” he said, “but you might want to tread carefully with Heli and Mariek. They were getting into it when I saw them last.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” Quarsh said, looking irritated. That was…probably fine. Quarsh at the end of his rope skewed towards snappish, but he wouldn’t take it out on anyone here. Quarsh seemed to be taking the same moment to evaluate Gregar, because he reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up,” he advised. “You’re not the one who put their lives in danger. You made the best plan you could in the face of people who play politics with explosives.”

Gregar nodded, both grateful and uneasy. Quarsh had a good heart, and he’d been in Gregar’s position, but the subjects of politics and defense were reliable conversation ruiners at any family gathering. He steered the conversation towards goodbyes, and made his way out of the memorial just inside the five minutes Saché had ordered.

Padmé turned as he approached, and she reached out immediately to catch his hands. She didn’t speak for a moment, just squeezed them, and he could see the lines of strain around her eyes.

Before she could say something horrible, like _I’m sorry_ —they weren’t talking about the guilt, though they both knew the other felt it—Gregar cleared his throat. “Well, ladies. Shall we head out?”

**Funeral III: Padmé  
** **Three weeks after the formation of the Empire**

When Gregar finally returned to Naboo to pay his respects, the funeral itself was long over. He slipped into the tomb alone and tried to grasp hold of the gnawing guilt and anguish, the sick feeling that went straight to his bones.

There was nowhere for him to go. He didn’t keep an apartment here anymore. Going to Mariek or Dormé or anyone else who had helped him guard Padmé was unthinkable. He didn’t know which of the rest of his family stood with the Empire, and which against, and he wasn’t ready to test that. He didn’t know why he had come at all—he wouldn’t find his closure here.

Until now, he hadn’t let himself truly believe it. Truly feel the loss. 

A footstep behind him had him turning, blaster up and aimed before he could think about it. A slight figure stood frozen in the doorway, hands raised, the sunlight spilling in behind momentarily casting her face in too deep a shadow to make out. He recognized the voice instantly, though. “We should really try meeting in better circumstances,” Saché said dryly.

Gregar laughed, rusty as an old hinge, even though it was the farthest thing from funny. He rarely saw her face to face, although they’d kept up a lively correspondence after that terrible week of funerals. 

“This time, you can do me a favor,” he said, without thinking it through any further.

Saché stepped further into the tomb. Out of the dramatic lightning, he could see the concern in her face. “Name it,” she said lightly.

He needed to regroup. He needed to figure out who was an ally, who was an enemy. He needed to keep his head down and not get noticed, and he was pretty sure Saché lived somewhere quiet and safe. (Wasn’t she running for Bibble’s old spot? A future governor and former handmaiden would know to keep an eye on security).

“Do you have an extra bed?” he blurted.

Her expression barely shifted. He didn’t know if it was because he looked and sounded like a wild animal, or because she had something to hide. “We do. Stay as long as you like.”

**Funeral IV: Jedi Knight Ondee Marter, Jedi Knight Pall Fyrfo  
** **One month after the formation of the Empire**

Once—nearly fifteen years ago now—a Jedi had come to Naboo and made the ultimate sacrifice, and helped secure Naboo’s freedom in the process. He had been released into the Force in the manner of his people, and Naboo remembered his name.

The galaxy had changed since then, and too much of Naboo had followed. Gregar sat down to the hasty conference in Saché’s home office, trying not to show what a kick in the gut seeing Mariek was. 

“I had word from the palace,” Mariek said. “Two Jedi sought asylum there last night.”

She had not appeared at Quarsh’s side when he took the new office of Moff. Gregar had not been surprised, but it still hurt. Especially because his own parents had been visible among his supporters. The cracks in his family had started as hairline fractures years earlier, but they had split open with the declaration of the Empire.

He knew he could trust the people in this room. Mariek, yes, and Saché, but also her wife Yané, Eirtaé and Rabé and Dormé. He was told Sabé and Tonra could be counted in their number, too, but they weren’t on planet right now. 

Such a small number to be organizing. But a small number of people hoping and planning had freed Naboo before—with some help. 

“Two Jedi?” Yané said, with hope in her voice.

Mariek shook her head, her face grim. “They were killed,” she said. “By one of Apailana’s personal retinue.”

All the air left the room at once. Many, many changes had come, at home and abroad, but—this was near a sacrilege. And in the royal palace, at that.

“Did Apailana order it?” Eirtaé said. Her fingers clenched into a white knuckled fist.

Saché was already shaking her head. “She wouldn’t. She’s young and idealistic, but clever. Skeptical.”

“She did not,” Mariek confirmed. 

Yané pressed her fingers to her mouth, horrified. “They came for sanctuary,” she said. “Not an untimely death and an unmarked grave.”

Gregar stirred, the beginnings of an idea forming. It wasn’t important, in the grand scheme, but it could right one small wrong. “If they’re in the palace morgue, I might have a contact who can fix the second one,” he said.

Three weeks after the world’s end, their first act of rebellion was a secret funeral for two lost Jedi. Few saw the pyres, and none would speak their names as they once had Qui-Gon Jinn’s, but their small circle would remember sending them off as they deserved. 

**A Proposal  
** **Two years after the formation of the Empire**

“You should go to bed,” Gregar said, craning his head to look down at Mirri.

“Don’t wanna,” Mirri complained, though her eyes were half-closed as she looked down at the book cradled in her lap. Gregar tied off the braid he’d been working on and lightly tugged on the end.

“I do things I don’t want to do all the time,” he said.

“Oh? Like what?” came a voice from the doorway, rich and amused.

Gregar tipped his head back. Yané stood there with her arms crossed, curls spilling over one shoulder. “Eat Saché’s cooking experiments,” he said.

“It’s not kind to talk negatively about people behind their backs,” Yané said.

“I give Saché critiques to her face,” Gregar said.

Yané smiled a little, and then pointed at Mirri. “You. Gregar is right. Time for little ones to go to bed, so they can be rested to finish their books tomorrow. Yes?”

Mirri grumbled, but Yané got bedtime sorted, and both of them ended up in the kitchen, passing around the latest news from Bail’s cell and nursing warm drinks. Saché came down eventually. She circled behind Yané and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, then leaned there, her cheek pressed against her hair. “You don’t want to sit?” Yané murmured.

“Too much sitting,” Saché said. 

Yané sighed, but patted Saché’s hand. “You want to start?” she asked.

“Now?” Saché said.

“When is the house gonna be quieter?”

“Am I expecting a lecture?” Gregar asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Both of them turned to look at him with identical looks he categorized as ‘listen to your mother.’ Because he wasn’t one of the children they fostered, he weathered it calmly. “It’s about the living situation,” Yané said.

“Ah. The ‘you’ve been a great help, but it’s time to start apartment hunting’ speech, then,” Gregar said. He’d planned on initiating that conversation himself more than a year ago, but he’d gotten used to it here. He was hit now with a pang of premature nostalgia. 

“Sweetheart?” Yané said, looking up at Saché.

Saché pulled away from her and settled into the chair beside her. “Actually,” she said, “since we’ve never really talked about the terms of this arrangement other than ‘sure, stay as long as you like, you’re not imposing,’ I thought we should finally talk about it.”

“Please don’t take credit for my ideas,” Yané said, mock-pained. Gregar tilted his head. She shook her head. “Saché, whom I love dearly, with all of my heart, will happily sit with a situation and hope that wishing really hard will make it turn out the way she wants it. You, Gregar, just make up your mind that you know both sides of a conversation without actually talking to anyone. Especially if the conclusion you reach is something you don’t want.”

Saché broke in. “What she’s trying to say is…well, do you want to join the household?” She waved around at the kitchen around them. “It’s chaotic on the best days, and all the adults in it are members of a rebel cell, and I am going to have to ask you to help scrape paint off the hallway ceiling if you stay, but…”

Gregar opened his mouth, and Saché shut hers immediately, looking suddenly shy. At first, all that came out was air. This had never been the household he pictured for himself. But the galaxy had changed, and even before it had, Gregar had stopped expecting life to go the way he planned it. Every now and then, in the rough currents of life, you came upon a sturdy raft. Gregar would be a fool not to reach for it with both hands.

“I would like that,” he said roughly. “Very much.”


End file.
